


Mourir d'être aimé

by allollipoppins



Series: Blood and Chocolate - YoI 2018 Valentine [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (if you squint but it is implied), Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Victor Nikiforov, Domestic Fluff, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Food Porn, Hades and Persephone AU, Implied Sexual Content, Katsuki Yuuri as Persephone, M/M, Past Hanahaki disease, Reincarnation, Valentine's Day, Victor Nikiforov as Hades, obsessed victor nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allollipoppins/pseuds/allollipoppins
Summary: "Dying of being loved" in French."When Yuuri had asked, in the beginning of their one-sided courtship, what it felt like, he had answered that it was like acid, pricking at the sides of his throat when he swallowed, as if a thousand spines were sprouting from his insides. He had even, in his ignorance, gone as far as comparing it to having butterflies in his lungs, the fool that he was. But how was he to know back then?"Hades/Victor has a surprise for his beloved Yuuri/Persephone.





	Mourir d'être aimé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kepler_16b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kepler_16b/gifts).



> Part three of my dark Yoi Valentine series, that comprises 4 parts. Title taken from Mylène Farmer's song "Paradis inanimé".  
> Each story is dedicated to a different, special person in my life, but in spite of that each of them is first and foremost a gift to everyone. Whether you are familiar with my works or you are a newcomer. Because romance is overrated and I love you all to bits :)  
> This one is five days overdue, I am so sorry guys, but I think it was worth it. I'm very happy with the way this one came out!
> 
> Because I have strange publishing habits, this is actually the epilogue to a story I haven't written yet, BUT I have the draft ready. I hope to get started on it sometime this year after finishing my "The Boy" fusion. As such there are specific tags to this future fic that are missing but that I didn't feel were necessary to add here. In the meantime this can be read as a standalone :)
> 
> I already have a list of ideas for future fics which I'm thinking of posting on my profile, but given how paranoid I am that someone might steal them, I'm reserving them for a potential future A/N on the fourth part of this series.

Every day came with a new discovery.

Details to be catalogued, plucked and handled with care, their essence bottled in perfume vials or dried between the pages of a diary. How silky Yuuri’s hair feels under his fingers, smooth to the touch and unfurling gently between his fingers, so thin he fears he might break it if he twitched ever so slightly. How his hand, pale to the point of translucence stands out pressed against Yuuri’s sun-kissed cheeks, which he caresses with reverence. At last he could reach him, dare to break the distance between them without the irrational fear that his touch alone would make him crumple to dust.

Yuuri barely even stirs from his sleep, in spite of how cold Victor’s skin is compared to his own. He does however nestle closer to Victor’s side, his body unconsciously seeking out the older man’s touch. He wore only Victor’s dressing gown; of a deep, dark blue silk that looked almost black, loose enough to give a peek of his collarbone and pool around his ankles, whilst still clinging to every enticing curve of his.

Warmth spreads through his chest every time he looks at him, pools inside his lungs and stomach and contracts his heart, an overwhelming feeling that makes him feel as if he is about to burst every minute from now. The figurative butterflies that gnaw at his insides, wings fluttering within a space that had, once, not made itself so present in its emptiness. It lingered still, a ghost that had left pieces of itself for him to find today again, and tomorrow. Given other circumstances, had he had the choice, he would have preferred this pain he had grown so accustomed to, to the void of the days before Yuuri.

No longer do vines crawl inside his stomach, or thorns claw at his throat. What had started as seeds clogging his pipes, planting themselves firmly in his belly, had grown and grown and given him flowers, young buds that expanded prolifically and divested themselves of their petals. Both corolla and sepals had steeped in his lungs, congesting his airway and making him cough, choke on crimson and tangerine and spewing floral leaves instead of words. Once, flowers had grown in the deepest, darkest parts of him. Even the coarse, fair hair on his arms that had never once been raised in goosebumps had prickled and pierced at his skin like fine needles.

When Yuuri had asked, in the beginning of their one-sided courtship, what it felt like, he had answered that it was like acid, pricking at the sides of his throat when he swallowed, as if a thousand spines were sprouting from his insides. He had even, in his ignorance, gone as far as comparing it to having butterflies in his lungs, the fool that he was. But how was he to know, back then? The result of years of being treated, cajoled like a child, of standing tall in the face of doctors’ warnings that he wouldn’t survive, would never survive should he keep being so reckless.

Victor, who had felt so numb before him. Feeling was unfamiliar, the stuff of dreams and nightmares alike. And then Yuuri had come along. Hunger bore no semblance in his hell, the very ground he tread on. Nevertheless Yuuri had awakened something in him that wasn’t dissimilar. A thirst only he could quench, a deep longing he had sworn to overcome, and Yuuri to assuage. The sweet boy that he was, the Cora who had believed only the barest of attentions and the most flitting of touches would appease him. Who had, ultimately, come to him willingly, with his kisses sweet as nectar and his eyes the colour of ambrosia and honey.

And yet corrupt him he had. Or rather he had brought up the single germ, fickle and uncultured, that had needed proper care to spurt from the ground. Like many things in his new life – their new life – it had been worth it. The image of Yuuri sprawled on the forest ground, his skin pale as a drop of snow, his eyes black as the night and his cheeks flushed red remained burned at the back of his mind. His lower lip and his fingers stained with droplets of blood that suited him better than any other cloth or accessory ever would.

It didn’t compare to the other looks he had seen him in, all these furtive moments when he’d had him under him, painting him red and purple with kisses, playing him like a piano and eliciting the sweetest sounds out of him. But this first time came close. A tentative connection that had been the beginning of such beautiful things. Victor couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty in the slightest for his actions, not when he had finally managed to take him away from the house that had neglected him so, coveted him to the point of pushing him into a shell, a cocoon in danger of never breaking.

Yes. In the end, it had all been worth it. All the lies, all the blood he had spilled, all these weeks of dancing around each other. Getting him away from the swarm of the city, the constant buzz of the night lights, they had spent nearly a week on the road, running away from an invisible enemy who bore no name. It never hurt to be cautious. Victor knew his guards to have considerably lowered with every passing day spent by the side of his beloved, and he had no doubt that given the opportunity, Yuuri’s mother would chase after them, trace their route back from the bedrooms they had left behind, at the Morooka’s place, to their current hideout in Russia.

His only shame, is that it took him so long, but he soothed away any worry on the pretence that it could have been worse, taken much longer than expected. But it had to be perfect. Yuuri deserved the world, not to spend the rest of his life amid the undeserving mortals he shared his air with. Yuuri deserved better than a life spent on the run with a criminal, better than nights spent in dingy motel rooms like those naïve heroines living between the covers of modern Gothic romances. Yuuri was of these creatures that could not, that should not under any circumstance be confined to the walls of a house. People like Yuuri were made to be outdoors, to flourish amid the greenery and under the sun.

Unlike him. Though Victor had taken great precaution when exposing himself to the light, it still didn’t agree completely with him and left him with a face and limbs so red he looks almost feverish after prolonged exposure. Yuuri laughed at him for that, but indulged him nevertheless by applying cream on the aches and kissing them away. While he protested that they had very little effect in his recovery, Victor would rather suffer through a thousand burns for his troubles than let him out of his sight. The fact that Yuuri appreciated it made it all so much easier to endure.

He extricates himself from his lover’s embrace, not without great difficulty and reluctance. Sensing his departure, Yuuri clings tighter to him, fingertips grazing his bare arms as he stands from the bed. Victor watches, enraptured as Yuuri finds his pillow and nuzzles into it, breathing in his scent and pressing into the warmth that lingers there. The sight breaks his heart a little, making him want to get back into bed and shower him with kisses, start the day as is due. But he has other special plans in mind for the day, and if he wants to put them in execution then separating from him is a necessary evil.

Victor spares him one last look before he turns. From his position on the bed, body curved in fetal position and with a leg hitched up slightly, Yuuri’s belly appears a little rounder. A complimentary look that adds to his healthy complexion, but a trick of the light and the folds of his gown that tugs at something inside him. He almost feels sorry for their current situation, their human bodies. Confined as they are by the boundaries of their mortal flesh, Victor wouldn’t be able to give him children. Were they still in Hell their souls would have entwined in a delicious, unbounded embrace, borne them heirs. He thinks distantly of their young ones: Macaria, Melinoë, Zagreus… then shakes his head as he moves to the kitchen. They have all the time in the world before getting back their little family.

The room was like the rest of the house – Yuuri had compared it to the likes of a mansion the first time he had seen it. An open space in spite of how small it was, the windows giving on an endless patch of green, which had quickly become Yuuri’s garden. Of an exquisite and old-fashioned décor reminiscent of 1940’s kitchens, with subtle tweaks due to some of the more modern appliances Lilia had had installed during his absence. Though Yuuri had spent the better part of a month getting acquainted with his new home – _their_ home – any change had gone amiss. Which worked like a charm for what Victor had in mind.

Victor opened the fridge door and was happy to find that his little confections were still intact, frozen in place. He mentally thanked the Heavens – an ironic coincidence – for Yuuri’s obliviousness, the Japanese man having spent most of yesterday outdoors without noticing once what was keeping him so busy in the kitchen. One of Victor’s many assets remained his culinary skills, something he had proved to him countless times, enough for Yuuri to trust him with on his own.

He set up the temperature and timer for the oven, then moved back. He balanced the tray he had pulled out of the cold with a single hand, admiring his handiwork. Six frozen chocolate cakes stood on the stray, red silicon moulds filled to the brim with smooth batter, divided in equal quantity and without a spill in sight. The surface was shiny from the folded chocolate that had been set by the cool air, a deep maroon colour that reminded him of Yuuri’s eyes when they caught the afternoon sunlight, of last rays melting into the brown pupils and finishing the course of the sun in his eyes. In moments such as those he couldn’t turn away, no matter how blinding Yuuri’s presence was.

With the oven now a little warmer, he popped the tray directly on the metal rack and stood back, already mentally busying himself with the rest of the day’s preparations and picturing its outcome. He sneaked a glance at the cakes through the glass door as he pulled a pan and a jar of jam from the back of a cupboard. They didn’t look too impressive for the time-being, but he knew that in a matter of seconds they would be perfect. Smiling lazily, he turned on the gas and set off to prepare the mixture.

Several minutes later, his water and grenade jam mixture had melted into a large puddle at the bottom of the pan, with a few chunks of fruit and arils still left for him to find. Paying no mind to the boiling hot coulis, he hastily dipped a finger to capture the liquid, the tip barely breaching the thin layer of sugar and pulp at the surface. He licked the syrup off his finger and hummed to himself, satisfied with the result. It tasted tangy on his tongue, and a little sweet. The fruit held none of its previous bitterness, nor had it been permeated by the rot that grew in the soil of the Underworld.

The liquid stuck to his skin long after consumption. It tinted his lips, smearing red on them, with traces of the fruit on his teeth. Nothing was left to be salvaged, save for the remains in the pan left for decoration. Victor thought back of their taste when he had first planted and harvested the grenades; they had been sour as cherries or cranberries, more tart than they were now. They had been nothing but impotent and green. But now the fruit was red, ripe with jewel-like seeds, sun-kissed and sweet. He had extracted each aril with utmost care, rolling the coarse fruit under his palm and parted it in halves with the ease of a florist parting a flower’s petals to gauge its maturity. Juice had splattered on his fingers and clothes, leaving small stains as he had pulled the grenades apart, digits sinking into the soft flesh and drawing out its contents. His Yuuri had grown fond of red fruits, especially berries, and with the sunnier days he had come to love the grenades in their backyard.

The timer clicked behind him and he turned to find the molten cakes ready. He smiled to himself, putting on his mittens and opening the oven door, pulling the tray out and leaving it to cool on the side while he finished with the sauce. As expected his confections had come out superbly. Though they were still too hot to even touch, Victor knew from the smell alone that the chocolate sponge cake would be delicious. The crust was light on the surface, airy from the intricate blend of egg whites and sugar with the slightest crispiness, and the insides were sure to be oozy and sweet.

And the cherry on top? A pomegranate and raspberry centre confectioned from fruits he had harvested himself, born of half a lifetime spent going over all the gifts he would one day present his beloved with once they would be reunited – and reunited they were now, after so long. All that was missing was the final garnish, the red fruit and grenade sauce he would pour over them.

Once they had cooled a bit, Victor turned out two of them, placing them delicately on twin dessert plates, then smothered the coulis over them with a spoon, careful to draw artful lines and not simply drown them under the syrup. He dusted them with a small cloud of powdered sugar and slipped mint leaves to the side and, once satisfied with his handiwork, placed two spoons on the side, assorted saucers and teacups on his tray.

Yuuri had begun to stir from his sleep before he had finished, and by the time he pushed the door to their bedroom he was sitting up, back propped against one of their pillows, hands rubbing sleepily at his eyes. When he caught sight of Victor lingering in the doorway, tray in hand, he beamed at him, a tired smile finding its way on his lips. Victor’s heart threatened to burst from the display.

“Hello Yuuri,” Victor whispered as if scared to break the comfortable bubble they were in, setting the tray on their beside table and leaning in for a kiss. Yuuri met him halfway, brushing soft lips against his own. It was a rather chaste kiss, but it filled him with warmth. “Happy Valentine’s day, my love.”

“Good morning,” Yuuri murmured against his lips, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes bright with affection. His arms wrapped around his neck, compelling Victor to pull him closer and wrap his own arms around his waist. Yuuri glanced at the teapot from which the scent of black tea rose, and then at the molten cakes. His eyes widened slightly.

“Isn’t it too early for dessert?” he teased, but from the way his cheeks flushed pink, Victor knew that he was as surprised as he was touched by this show of affection.

“Oh dear” Victor chuckled, his hair nuzzling his cheek as he pressed a kiss near the ear lobe. Yuuri’s shiver didn’t go unnoticed as he whispered in his ear. “It’s never too early for dessert.”

Yuuri answered with a giggle of his own, before pulling himself closer. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that.”

Victor settled beside him and filled both their cups, then reached for one plate which he extended to Yuuri. Bur before he could even grab the spoon, Victor had beaten him to it and had already dug the tip. The surface cracked and chocolate, silky and warm, oozed from the cut. Yuuri tilted his head as he took in the intoxicating scent.

“It smells wonderful,” he said, eyes on the plate as he cut into the pastry, pulling it apart delicately as he had with the grenade, in a clean slice. Red pulp bled into the centre of the porcelain, bathing the cake in drizzles of raspberries and sweet grenade.

Victor inhaled as the first piece disappeared between plump, rosy lips. Some of the sauce fell in droplets on the bedsheets, but he disregarded it as Yuuri’s tongue peeked out to lick out remnants of chocolate. He followed the curve of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, mapping out the path the piece took in Yuuri’s mouth. He could practically feel the chocolate and red berries descend, the taste lingering on his tongue and palate. Yuuri’s eyes rolled at the back of his head, eyelashes fluttering slightly. His low, extended intake of breath told him everything he needed to know.

Without thinking twice he put the plate aside and pulled Yuuri into a kiss he responded to eagerly. His tongue danced against his own, chasing the taste of dark chocolate and berries and the underlying sweetness that was uniquely Yuuri.

They stayed locked together for what felt like eternity, until Victor pulled back slightly, enough for his lips to hover on Yuuri’s without touching. Yuuri gasped as he leaned back, his hot breath ghosting over his chin. His eyes gazed into his own, the brown iris a thin ring surrounding dark, dilated pupils.

“You’re right,” Yuuri breathed, hand reaching for his own as he brushed the corner of his mouth with a gentle kiss, cradling his cheek with one hand. Victor chuckled lowly as his own hand came down on the knot of Yuuri’s dressing gown, pulling it loose. “It’s never too early for dessert.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part four will, sadly, be stalling for a bit while I wait for the holidays. A little spoiler: it will be a continuation of my current series, "A force of mind and circumstance", and the Actual Final installment to the series. Supposedly.
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are always appreciated :)  
> I'm @allollipoppins on tumblr & @AriL10N355 on twitter. Hmu!


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